Chef Ron
by Holzzzz
Summary: Ron decides he can cook.


It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon. The sun was blaring through the window at the Weasley household, light reflecting of the what was once gleaming wooden surfaces of the kitchen. This however wasn't the current case.

Directly in the middle of the kitchen stood a tall, freckled, red-haired man donned in a flowery apron with hair sticking out at all angles as he frantically bent over a book. Ron had decided he was going to make dinner for his family. More importantly though, he was going to make dinner the muggle way, no magic. Not even a smudge. Not an ounce of magic was going to go into his preparations for his meal, or the cooking of it, or finishing touches. He was going to appreciate muggle living and become less ignorant, thereby giving Hermione one less thing to nag him with.

Ron flicked hastily through the various pages of a muggle cook book he had borrowed from the burrow. Apparently his father had got it from a kind of fair, a car boot sale as he recalled, so that he could learn more about muggle habits and ways of living. Anyway, as Ron scanned the recipes he was slowly losing patience, every recipe had long confusing ingredients and used foreign words such a sauté. This just created confusion and Ron had no desire to discover what any of these words actually meant, instead he continued to search for easy recipes, cooking for dummies style recipes.

After a short duration, Ron stumbled across a recipe- the basic pizza. This sounded simple enough. Plus he knew it was a dish he enjoyed. So off he scooted around the cupboards, searching out flour and baking powder to create the base.

Finding ingredients was simple as he followed the instructions; weigh out two cups of flour along with a tablespoon baking powder. This was followed with precision until adding water came. Stirring in the water Ron had decided was too slow for him so started kneading it with his hands. He quickly realised this was much more convenient and more fun than stirring traditionally with a wooden spoon, so relaxed and continued mixing.

As the mixture was beginning to resemble dough, a loud squeak echoed from outside. Initially this was ignored until it began to increase in volume and had an accompanying cry. On looking out the kitchen window Ron saw his son, Hugo, hanging off the edge of the shed roof, his fingers gripping to the drainpipes dangerously. In his panic Ron rushed out to the garden shed, covering the door handles in dough and almost gluing his hand to it at one point.

It seemed Hugo had been 'practising' flying a broom and had decided to let the garden gnomes dangle from the top of the shed, then decided to taunt them from the safety of his Dad's Firebolt, which had been gifted from Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry. The gnomes didn't appear to have seen it this way however, and as Hugo had neared had jumped off, some hijacking the broomstick, whilst poor Hugo had jumped off in fright and shock. Ron just grinned, half amused and half exasperated at his son's antics, although arrived in the nick of time to catch Hugo's fall covering the pair in dough and flour during the process.

On his return, it was decided the dough was of the correct consistency, so trying to be professional; the dough was rolled in all directions, back and forth until it resembled a perfect circle on top of the breadboard, and then given toppings of ham, cheese and various spices. Perfecto. Ron sat back, and admired his creation prior to placing it in the oven. With a smug grin, he wondered if this could be his calling, and went to place the creation on a tray.

Nothing.

""What the bloody hell is wrong with this."

The pizza wouldn't budge off the breadboard at all. Ron tried various angles, grabbling it roughly, then trying gentle manoeuvres to coax the concoction. For all the luck he had, it may as well had a permanent sticking charm.

It was then he spied them, two strange looking utensils, fish slices he believed them to be called which may help slide under and unstick the dough. Ron smiled at his genius and thought with success as some of the recipe lifted off the damned board. His joy however, was short-lived.

**Splat!**

The mix fell in a giant heap, causing more mess than even Peeves could off caused and Ron just stared idly on. With an air off irritation he placed it in the oven anyway, hoping it would somehow rectify itself.

Whilst the heap was cooking Ron looked around and saw flour, well, everywhere. It was if it had exploded and more seemed to appear when he moved, and cleaning it just transported it elsewhere, like super apparition. In fascination Ron studied this whilst listening in the background to the sound of his children bickering over which quidditch team were superior, Chudley Cannons or Holyhead Harpies.

A strong burning smell entered his thoughts, the aroma filling his nostrils and making it difficult to breath. Upon recognition Ron turned to the oven to be greeted with bright orange flames and grey and black smoke flickering around and rising towards the ceiling. Forgetting his 'muggle' approach, Ron quickly opened the oven door.

"_Aguamenti!"_

This extinguished the fire and Ron hastily decided that the pizza was ready. Dishing up his pizza he decided perhaps an appearance spell would make his family believe they'd been no hiccups. With one wave of his wand, the black, burnt to a crisp, resembling charcoal heap, deciphered a golden brown, cheese melted pizza which would make pizza shops envious of its appeal.

Taking the pizza into the dining room, his children and Hermione expressed shock at how good the food looked and eagerly took their first bite.

That was all they took.

"_Dad, why's it soggy?"_

"_Why does it taste burnt?"_

"_Ronald! What have you done to this meal!"_

That was the last time Ron would ever say he was the best chef in the universe, and that he cook anything without a hitch. Especially when all his family later visited just to sample his creations.


End file.
